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'4000 Miles' review or 'I hear you loud and clear.'

'4000
Miles', Amy Herzog

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Room Theatre, Thursday 16th
May 2013

Sara
Kestelman turns in a performance of swirling depth as the gentle but
gruff New Yawk grandma, Vera, in Amy Herzog's heartfelt play, '4000
Miles'. Vera's lonely life is stopped in its tracks – frozen and
then thawed – by the surprising arrival of her grandson Leo (Daniel
Boyd). Once a hippy with nothing to lose, Leo has now lost someone
dear to him and has turned up at his grandma's doorstep looking for a
place to hide and heal.

The
two develop a warm dynamic together, carefully creating a soft space
into which Leo's sadness and Vera's loneliness can quietly fall. The
relationship between a grandmother and her grandson is dramatic gold
dust: it possesses both an instinctive closeness and necessary
distance which lends any shared interaction an easy and authentic
variety. A grandmother can simultaneously spoil and scold her
grandson in a way a parent cannot. A grandson can offer comfort and
then unthinkingly withdraw that warmth in a way that a son cannot.

Amy
Herzog mines this relationship with great skill and grace. She teases
the two apart as she brings them closer together. In many ways, they
could not be more contrasting; Leo's sad apathy pools quietly beneath
Vera's bustling energy. Vera is a woman determined to live and
Kestelman animates her performance with endless physical tics, as if
all those grunts, groans and giggles might frighten death away. Leo,
who has come close to death for the first time, sits in quiet
opposition to his grandma's determined activity. He seems paralysed
by his new knowledge, bamboozled by how cruel life can be.

As
the two circle around each other, occasionally stumbling across each
other's hidden fears, we sink easily into their company. Helped by
Dacre's sensitive and nimble direction, we quickly develop an
instinctive connection with these characters, anticipating their
reactions and forgiving their failings.

Themes
quietly build and the lightly worn scenes begin to speak of much
bigger concerns. The idea of faulty communication – be that via
Vera's hearing aid, a dodgy Skype connection or a next door neighbour
Vera calls but does not see – resonates loudly. This idea is also
expressed through Vera's forgetfulness, as she reaches for words and
phrases just out of her grasp. There is something particularly
powerful about watching dementia set in on-stage - a cruel irony to
the idea of an older actress remembering to forget her lines.

The
characters off-stage are equally rich – a significant feature of
Herzog's writing, which really sets her apart. Herzog deftly sketches
in these absent characters. Leo's absent family and friends and
Vera's lovers – all dead now - glow with life, thanks to a few
snatched scenes or stolen phrases.

The
characters grow brighter still as the play progresses. In the final
scene, Leo rehearses a hastily researched speech about the lady next
door. With just a quick google search, Leo brings to life this absent
lady. Forced into the wings for the final act of her life, she is
brought centre stage one last time. We're reminded how quickly long
lives are forgotten – and how little it takes to allow everyone
their moment in the spotlight. Bravo.